


Supermatch Services

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: Marvel, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8298262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: “So, you find a girlfriend for Wolverine? He was looking extra ‘Don’t Fuck With Me Bub’ when he stormed out of here,” remarked David.Tommy shifted against the couch arm so he sat across from David. “He doesn’t understand the delicacy of matchmaking. It takes time. Especially when you have to find the poor girl you’re going to subject to him. My thought process is basically, which superheroine do I hate most?”“And?”Tommy thought about it. “Honestly? Not a big fan of Coat of Arms at the moment. But she wasn’t that bad. I’d still date her.”“Isn’t she that chick who wanted to marry Green Goblin and hung out with a neo-nazi?”Tommy shrugged. “Could be worse. She could be Green Goblin and a neo-nazi.”“There’s this irony in you being a matchmaker, I just can’t put my finger on it.”________________The one good thing about being a Young Avenger (in a world where good things are limited to one) is that even as everyone grows up, no one grows apart. Wherein life is much the same for everyone, except Tommy has two jobs and David pays most of the rent.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A very, very old fic that I wrote a very, very long time ago. I decided to upload it anyway.

**Prodigy & Speed Residence @ 12:00 PM — 12/29 (Tuesday)**

Tommy scratched his head with the butt of his pencil. He was looking down at the bubble-sheet on his desk. “And where would you say your moral alignment falls, Mr. Wolverine?”

“My _what?”_ Wolverine said defensively, as if Tommy might’ve spoken something in a foreign language warranting a punch to the face. He sat on the opposite side of Tommy’s desk, squeezed into a fold-out chair. His eyebrows were nearly bursting out of his mask in displeasure. Tommy tried not to obviously stare at his bushy arm hair, and made a mental note to Google later if stress increased the rate of shedding. He was trying to keep the office clean.

“Your moral alignment, my dude,” Tommy repeated. “Ya’ know — Neutral Good, Chaotic Good, Lawful Good. Dungeons and Dragons.” Tommy waved his pencil in the air. “Ringing any bells?”

Wolverine scoffed. “I didn’t come here to roll die and ask some dork in a wizard hat if I can kill an ogre or whatever.”

Tommy pointed his pencil at him. “So you have heard of it!”

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled.

Tommy leaned back in his chair. The wheels dug into the wood floors and he winced. “Look,” he reasoned, “I can’t match you up with the Super Babe of your dreams unless you cooperate with me. I mean, what if I accidentally match you up with a Chaotic Evil, and you’re Lawful Good — ”

“Trust me, I’m not.”

“Do you know how awkward that date is going to be?” Tommy opened a drawer and pulled out a D&D Moral Alignment Quick Facts paper. He handed it to Wolverine. “Read the descriptions and self-identify. I trust you’ll be more honest than most of my clients.”

Wolverine took a moment, then declared, “Chaotic Evil.”

“Wrong.”

Wolverine snapped his head up. “You told me to self-identify, so I _did.”_

“You’re Chaotic Good. No need to pile on the edginess,” Tommy placated. “Besides, I think the bright yellow jumpsuit defeats any darkness you’re shooting for.”

“This is unbelievable. I want my money back.”

“No-can-do,” Tommy rejected, bubbling in the moral alignment. “I need the money to help guys like you out. See, I’m doing all this on paper. Getting hand-cramps and paper cuts — it’s a real drag. But I save up, I get a computer, and boom, matchmaking is at an all-time efficiency. You _want_ to pay me,” he assured.

Wolverine rubbed his face. “I really don’t.”

 _“Fine,”_ relented Tommy. _“I_ want you to pay me, and that’s good enough to have a no-refunds policy. Now, what’s more important to you? Boobs, or the ability to microwave things?”

“Boobs,” Wolverine answered immediately. “And - _what?”_

“Hey, think about the benefits — perfect popcorn, every time.”

“I’m sticking with boobs.”

Tommy shrugged. “Your loss.” He jotted down some notes, then grabbed a questionnaire from another drawer. He passed it to Wolverine. “I’ll have your match within 4-10 business days. I’ll call you. In the meantime,” Tommy winked, “tell your friends about me.”

“You’re not even going to tell me now who my match is?” Wolverine said, disbelieving.

Tommy proffered his palms. “Takes a while without a computer!”

Wolverine rolled his eyes and stood abruptly. “Yeah, I’ll tell my friends. Tell ‘em that if a scrawny blond boy asks them if they’re single, _run.”_ Wolverine stalked out of the room.

“Any word is good word!” Tommy called after him.

 

Tommy stretched his arms, working out the kinks. Oh, man, he needed Mountain Dew. _God,_ Mountain Dew. He swiftly headed to the kitchen downstairs. As he reached the refrigerator, he overheard Wolverine’s engine revving up and David talking irritably. He flicked the tab on the can and there was that satisfying _crack_ as the soda fizzled. He gulped it down, caffeine burning his throat a little, and wandered into the living room. David sat at a perfect 90 degree angle on the loveseat, phone smashed against his ear.

“I _know_ he’s wearing a mask, but just — compliment his physique, or something! You can see that, can’t you?” David insisted. Tommy rested his arms across the back of the couch, holding the soda can between his teeth. “Even if you keep running, there is a very promising chance that Deadpool will eventually catch up and slice-and-dice you with his katana. Does that sound fun? No? Then _stop running_ and just tell him he’s beautiful!” David was quiet for a couple seconds before exclaiming, “I’m sorry, did you not call me to take my professional advice? Because it’s sounding like you didn’t, from my end.”

Tommy reclined his neck so soda poured down his throat. David sighed. Tommy strained to hear if his client was saying anything. He could vaguely make out a masculine voice. Then, another voice — like a crackling fire — _shrieked._ David jerked away from his phone. Loud and clear, a man was yelling an excited chorus of _thank-you_ ’s, _no-you-don’t-mean-that_ ’s, and a _do-you-like-Mexican?_

David smiled.

“Oh, Deadpool!” Tommy blurted, motioning to the phone with his soda. Some of it spilled onto the couch. “That should be my next customer!” He rubbed at the stain inconspicuously.

David covered the receiver on his phone and gave him a sharp look. “Shut up,” he scolded. He removed his palm. “That will be a total of $100, which will be automatically deducted from your bank account. Thank you for calling the Hero Hotline. Have a nice date.” David clicked _end._ He twisted around to face Tommy. “You spilled Mountain Dew on my couch.”

Tommy gave David his soda and hitched himself onto the cushion. He took the can back. “You spilled couch on my Mountain Dew. You owe me, like, one fluid ounce.”

David snatched the can as Tommy put it to his lips. David took a swig. _“Your_ Mountain Dew?” he asked, wiping his mouth. “Last time I checked, _I_ bought this.”

Tommy retrieved the can. “Upon _my_ request. I’m the brains behind the grocery list, Alleyne; I own at least 50% of everything you buy.”

“I would love to watch a courtroom show with you as the main character,” admitted David.

“Man, I would make such a cute Judge Judy.”

“I don’t think it gets cuter than Judy,” David disagreed. “So, you find a girlfriend for Wolverine? He was looking extra ‘Don’t Fuck With Me Bub’ when he stormed out of here.”

Tommy shifted against the couch arm so he sat across from David. “He doesn’t understand the delicacy of matchmaking. It takes time. Especially when you have to find the poor girl you’re going to subject to him. My thought process is basically, which superheroine do I hate most?”

“And?”

Tommy thought about it. “Honestly? Not a big fan of Coat of Arms at the moment. But she wasn’t _that_ bad. I’d still date her.”

“Isn’t she that chick who wanted to marry Green Goblin and hung out with a neo-nazi?”

Tommy shrugged. “Could be worse. She could _be_ Green Goblin and a neo-nazi.”

“There’s this irony in you being a matchmaker, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Tommy groaned, dipping his head back. “The irony is that I have two jobs and I’m still not making money.”

David frowned. “I’m not sure if Supermatch counts as a job yet. I mean, I’m glad you’ve got something to keep you busy in between Hero Hotline, but — the money’s, uh, it’s crap.”

“It’s a process,” Tommy reminded. “The better a reputation I build,” he explained, moving his hands up like an escalator, “the more income I’ll eventually earn. It requires _patience.”_

“Even more reason for you to quit,” David pointed out. Tommy stuck his tongue out at him. David exhaled. “I’m not trying to discourage you, though. I support you in every endeavor to not be a deadbeat squatter.”

Tommy punched David’s shoulder with the can. David eyed it warily as the contents made sloshing sounds. “Thanks, bro. I support you supporting me. Someday, I’ll have enough cash to pay rent for my office.” Tommy jabbed a finger at the ceiling.

David glanced at the stairway. “Oh, right. I don’t know why you don’t just make it into a bedroom, instead of sleeping on the couch every night.”

Because bedrooms are too permanent. “I need to maintain an air of professionalism for my clients,” Tommy supplied. “Priorities.”

“How much money have you made off this thing anyway?”

Tommy moaned dramatically. “Why is that the first thing out of everyone’s mouths? It’s not like I can predict where it’s going.”

“Actually, you can,” David informed. “You just need a line chart.”

Tommy glared. “Allow me to rephrase: shut up, David.”

David saluted him. “Shutting up,” he promised, snagging the remote off the coffee table.

* * *

**Burger Place Near Teddy and Eli’s Campus @ 12:00 PM — 12/29**

Teddy had shoved his tray of food to the side, his sketch book open in front of him. The restaurant was blasting heat, so his jacket hung from the chair and his sleeves were rucked up to the elbows. Classes weren’t in session, which meant that the normal student hustle-and-bustle was absent from the burger joint. Eli only came here during breaks - ambient chatter stressed him out.

Noise had never been on Eli’s good side, but it had become unbearable in his post-Patriot days. He struggled to differentiate between playful shouts and frightened ones; wasn’t sure when a distant _bang!_ meant _suit up;_ kept imagining every threat he couldn’t detect when surrounded by crowds. Kate had said, a long time ago, to “Stop bringing the battlefield everywhere you go.”

Solid advice. Eli couldn’t leave anything behind, could he?

He thumped his finger on the page Teddy was using. “Do you think wings would be a good idea?” he asked.

Teddy looked up. “Like, costume wings? Or are we actually giving the character wings?” No longer over the paper, Eli could see the progress. They were in the brainstorming stage of writing a comic together. Kasim Kade, a.k.a. Temper, was their protagonist.

“Actual wings. He’s an alien, right? Wings would make that obvious.”

Teddy frowned. “I suppose, but… I’m not sure if birds really fit him, thematically. He’s an empath, not a flying person.”

Eli slumped against the booth. “Fine. But I still think he should have animal qualities.”

Teddy gnawed on his pencil, then caught himself and jerked it out of his mouth. He scratched his head, looking embarrassed. Eli figured it was a good thing, Teddy being a shapeshifter, because that kind of self-consciousness on a smaller man would attract a lot of shitheads. “How about an animal known for its empathy?” Teddy recommended.

“Like?”

Teddy set the pencil down. “A cat?”

Eli crossed his arms firmly. “Tee, we are _not_ making cat boys.”

“I think they sell,” Teddy said, smiling playfully.

“We are approaching this comic with integrity,” Eli vowed. He hit the table emphatically. Some ketchup coated his finger and he furtively wiped it on his jeans.

“With all due respect, sir,” Teddy said teasingly, “I’ve been working at the college library for the past semester, cataloguing books — integrity is more or less absent from, ah, everything in the fiction section.”

Eli paused, snagging a french fry. “What do you mean?” he asked, chewing.

“Lots of vampires.”  
“Ah.” Eli wrinkled his nose. “Still?”

“To be fair, most of the books are a couple years old,” Teddy revised. “Kate tells me that zombie love interests are all the rage right now.”

“Huh.” Eli leaned back. He cut Teddy a sharp look. “I still refuse to write anything that can be summed up as the Adventures of Cat Boy and Hot Zombie.”

Eli and Teddy simultaneously froze. Slowly, their eyes locked. The world stopped turning. Lightning struck in a weird, beautiful, metaphorical way. Time was infinite.

“Oh, hell yes.”

 

Two cat boy drawings later and a fit of breathless laughter on Teddy’s part, they had agreed to set aside the sketchbook to finish eating. Eli’s burger had gone cold, which was gross, but he had it coming. “I’ll start working on the story tonight,” he promised. He had more than enough spare time since leaving his part-time job at the fast food restaurant. (“Hostile work environment,” he had made sure to specify on his resignation form. Racist coworker made his shifts a living hell, and his boss dismissed him whenever he complained. He put up with it, until he let go and told his grandmother everything. “Minimum wage isn’t worth all that, baby.” She was right.)

“Billy could probably help, if you need it,” Teddy offered. “Rebecca is in the middle of renovating her psychiatric clinic, so it’s been a month of downtime from his desk job. He’s home 24/7, unless — well.” _Unless he’s on patrol,_ Eli filled in the gap. Kate was the only one who didn’t tiptoe around him quitting. They had all quit, really — Eli was just the only one good at it. Maybe that meant something about his team, that they couldn’t stay down. Being heroes was in their blood, no serum needed.

Eli snorted. “He’s not alone. Yesterday, I legit considered taking apart the family desktop to see if I could put it back together.”

Teddy’s eyebrows rose. “You can build computers?”

“No.”

Teddy’s face was momentarily blank, but then his lips pulled upward and he snickered. “You didn’t, did you? Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Obviously I didn’t,” Eli defended. “I said I _considered_ it. I’m bored, not stupid.”

Teddy nodded, stuffing a chicken strip into his mouth. “Hey, are you going to Kate’s New Year’s Eve thing?”

Eli rolled his eyes. “No, and I wish Kate would stop harassing me over it. These little get-togethers are annoying as _shit.”_

“They’re team-building.”

 _“What_ team?”

Teddy didn’t respond to that. Instead, he said, “Tommy met this other mutant through work. He used to be in the New X-Men. He, um, doesn’t have his abilities anymore.” A sad expression crossed Teddy’s face. Eli wondered what losing a power felt like to mutants. The mutants he had met had treated the loss like a phantom limb. Sometimes — and he knew it was idiotic — Eli wished he also had a power to identify with, to feel special because of. “His name’s David,” Teddy resumed. “Tommy says he’s going to the party with him. Curious?” Teddy baited.

“Not even a little,” Eli answered truthfully.

“Come on, this is serious,” Teddy wheedled. “We might be having a new addition to _the_ _squad.”_

“I’m sorry; I’m going to have to ask you to repeat what you just said to me. And then realize it’s dumb, and never say it again.”

“The girls have been calling it The Squad for years, I’m afraid.”

There was a _pang_ at the implicit mention of Cassie. Yeah, he had remembered her calling it that. She was the one who came up with it.

He visited her grave, every now and then, Always by himself. The others went together, but he couldn’t handle seeing everyone at once. That was too much.

“Look, if he hangs out with Speed, he’s probably just as irritating. I’ll pass,” Eli stated. He was silently grateful when Teddy didn’t react to Eli’s accidental alias.

“Alright, but Kate won’t be pleased.”

“Big whoop,” Eli dismissed. “When is she ever?”

Teddy sipped his soda. He tipped it toward Eli. “At parties.”

Eli cupped his mouth as if to shout. _“Pass,”_ he repeated, popping the ‘p.’

* * *

**Bishop Mansion @ 1:00 PM — 12/29**

Kate balanced her cell phone in the crook of her neck. Her hands were occupied by a pottery wheel which she had set on a tray attached to her treadmill. “Eli, you don’t have to come,” she said, increasing the speed. Wet clay smudged on the button and she frowned at it.

“Good, because — ”

“You’ll just be a giant jerk if you don’t,” she concluded. Eli was stubborn and would do whatever he wanted to, in the end. Which meant most of Kate’s girlfriend duties fell under “giving Eli a hard time.”

Eli’s tone took a turn for indignation. “Why do you even like hanging out with everyone?” he said hotly. “It’s just a reminder that we’re a failed team.”

“Maybe for _you,”_ Kate conceded, “but for _everyone else,_ it’s just a New Year’s party.”

“A party with six people. Six specific people. Six specific, super-powered people.”

“Five specific super-powered people. Here’s the hard sell: one awesome, normal-powered me,” Kate corrected. “Oh, and David,” she tacked on. Eli didn’t say anything for a while. She remembered, then, how everyone had found out the truth about Eli. She remembered Eli’s face when he was the first to quit. She wondered, guiltily, if apologizing would just make it worse.

“Fine,” came Eli’s exasperated response. “I’ll be there. But no promises I’ll stay the whole night.”

Kate smiled. “I’ll have Teddy stand guard, just in case you try to make an escape.”

“Just what I need,” Eli groused. “A miniature hulk on my ass.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll mostly be on Billy’s ass,” Kate snickered.

“Oh, yes, so funny,” Eli growled. “Their PDA is going to be so obnoxious, it’s retroactively burned into present-me’s retinas.”

Kate scoffed. “Whatever, nerd. They’re adorable and you’re frigid.”

“I am _not,”_ Eli argued, offended.

“Prove it and dip me into a passionate kiss this Thursday,” Kate challenged. Her neck was starting to feel stiff. Time to hang up. “Anyway, I’m trying to sculpt a couple things - namely a clay pot and my butt — so I’ll let you go. Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” And Eli hung up.

Kate sighed. _He’s such an ass,_ she thought. She caught herself. “Whoa,” she said aloud, placing her phone on the tray. That wasn’t positive thinking. Maybe she should check out one of those positive-energy self-help audio books, after all. She’ll call Billy about his collection tomorrow.

Her phone screen lit up with a text from Tommy.

 

_2 monster golf tickets. tomorrow @ 12. forgot i had them. u in ?_

 

Alternatively, Kate could just throw her phone out the window and ignore everything she’s ever felt since birth. She grabbed her cell.

 

_Hope you like public execution, because I DOMINATE at monster golf._

 

It should be known that throwing phones out windows is just a waste of money and selfies.

 

_wldnt expect ne thing less than total annihilation from u katie-kate_

 

Her phone was a mess of goopy clay.

Tommy made it hard to be a good girlfriend.

But, no, Tommy didn’t have anything to do with this. Kate was a crappy girlfriend all on her own.

* * *

 

**A Grocery Store @ 5:00 PM — 12/29**

“So, like, I know there’s probably a difference,” Billy started, holding a jar in each hand, “but do you think there’s an actual, holy-oath difference between off-brand pasta sauce and off-brand tomato sauce? Because the recipe calls for tomato sauce, but pasta sauce is a dollar cheaper.” This was his second grocery shopping trip with Teddy — the first having been two days ago, where they had managed to forget a lot of basic human necessities, like toilet paper and food.

“Go with cheap,” came Teddy’s answer a couple feet away. He was scrutinizing boxes of spaghetti, bent at the knees and grimacing. _Did Teddy need glasses?_ Billy didn’t think sight should be a shapeshifter problem, but he wasn’t personally a shapeshifter. Was it racist to assume shapeshifters had good vision? And, more importantly, was there a difference between pasta sauce and tomato sauce?

“Pasta sauce it is,” Billy declared, dropping the chosen jar into the cart.

Teddy added a narrow box of angel hair. “We can make spaghetti with the leftover sauce.”

Billy nodded. “Good thinking,” he praised.

Teddy dug their grocery list out of his jean pockets. “It came to me in a dream,” he mused, reviewing the items.

“What else do we need?” prodded Billy.

“Milk.”

“I keep forgetting we need that.”

Stuffing the paper back in his pocket, Teddy took the end of the cart and began walking forward. Billy grabbed hold of the steering bar. “Milk is a hero operating in the shadows,” Teddy commented.

“Calcium is a thankless job.”

“Huh,” said Teddy, guiding them toward the refrigeration section. “Suddenly, I relate to milk.”

“Do you think calcium gets a paycheck for donning the cape? Or just bad Yelp reviews ranting about city damages?”

Teddy winced, recalling. “I still can’t believe we have our own Yelp page.”

After five years of living with his parents, Billy had managed to rent an apartment with Teddy. In between college, entry-level jobs, and vigilantism, grocery shopping was date night central. Also, the dates were terribly boring. In fact, all remnants of a preexisting romantic spark had basically died since adulthood.

Last week, Billy had been fighting doombots alongside the Avengers. The final bot was a wrecked heap after he shot a lightning bolt through it. His heart was still pounding, adrenaline rushing, when his text alert went off. Teddy had typed: _Tonight is definitely laundry day and you’ve been selected to help asap. We’re dividing and conquering our reds from our whites if it takes us till 3 AM._

It was the least appealing thing Billy could think of doing. Sapped of all energy from the battle, finishing nearly a month’s worth of laundry was not only unappealing, but potentially impossible. Being a superhero never stopped being exhilarating and surreal; every moment in his cape was the best moment to be alive. Ending the night with a buttload of laundry seemed painfully prosaic. Funnily enough, he didn’t mind. He went home, washed a never-ending amount of dirty clothes, and laughed progressively harder (sleepier) at Teddy’s jokes as the clock swept past midnight. Billy didn’t miss the earlier excitement of the doombots for a second.

Billy supposed it was the mundane stuff that love was made of.

 

“Hey, Billy.”

Someone shook Billy’s shoulder until he hefted his eyes open. Teddy stood over him as Billy sat up from the futon. The smell of baked dough and pepperoni went straight to his stomach.

“The pizza’s ready. You still up for date night?” asked Teddy.

Blearily, Billy looked to the coffee table dressed in paper plates and 99-cent candles. “Hell yeah,” Billy said around a yawn. He stretched his arms over his head, individual knots unfurling from his shoulders to his back. Some soft rock song was playing on Ted’s phone.

Teddy smiled. “Cool.” His cheeks dimpled, so Billy did what any self-respecting superhero would and kissed them giddily. Teddy laughed softly and shyly dipped his head, so Billy’s lips were now on his temple. He kissed him there, too, then got up to the kitchen. He picked up their plates on the way.

“Since I conked out on you halfway through the cooking process, I’ll serve the slices,” he bargained, already sinking the cutter into the pizza. Grease sizzled atop the pepper pieces as the blade carted through the gooey, melty cheese. Billy’s mouth watered.

Teddy stole a pillow from the futon and stuck it under his place on the floor. He crossed his legs and waited patiently at the table. “You’ll also clean the dishes,” he delegated.

Billy groaned, piling three pizza slices onto the first plate. “I _hate_ the dishes. You _like_ cooking.”

Teddy shrugged helplessly. “A labor of love is still labor.”

“Do you know how hard it is to clean pans? They’re not like normal dishes, Ted. They’re worse.” Billy carried their pizzas over.

Teddy wore his patented ‘Tough Luck, Man’ face. “Either this, or I go with your mom’s chore wheel suggestion.”

Billy sat across from him and jabbed a finger. “Don’t joke about that. You weren’t there when she had the chore wheel. You don’t know the shit that went down.”

“Was it possibly equal distribution of chores?”

Billy scowled. “But at what cost?”

Teddy chewed and swallowed, eyes upturned in mock-thinking. “Your prerogative to hole up in your bedroom and binge-watch bad mecha anime?”

Billy bit into his pizza, accidentally tearing off all the cheese in one go. He ate it anyway. He moved the mass of cheese to the corner of his mouth so he could talk. “No such thing as bad mecha anime,” he objected.

“One could argue there’s no such thing as _good_ mecha anime.”

Billy decided to get to the core of the issue. “Who is this ‘ _one’_ and why do they hate happiness so much?”

“One prefers Sailor Moon,” Teddy answered, repressing a grin.

“Okay, _but,”_ Billy took a moment to swallow all the cheese before continuing, “has one considered Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask in a jaeger?”

Teddy cocked his head. “Are you saying Usagi and Mamoru are drift compatible?”

“Are you saying they’re _not?”_

Teddy paused. He nodded his head. “You’ve given one something to think about, that’s for sure.”

They fell into comfortable silence, until Billy spoke. “I’m a little concerned we both have watched Sailor Moon,” he confessed.

“If we had sisters, we could blame them,” said Teddy.

“We don’t.”

Teddy chewed thoughtfully. “You know what? I can crush cars into tiny cubes. I’m not going to worry about my masculinity.”

“Wow. I’m going to need to do major acts of manliness to keep up with you, aren’t I?”

Teddy tapped his chin. “I think punching at least two alligators in the face should suffice, if you’re going to keep loving Sailor Moon.”

Billy clapped his hands decisively. “Next date: the zoo.”

“Watch out, caged lions, because _Moon Prism Power Make-Up.”_

 


End file.
